This is just the beginnings of a poem. Not sure if it's the middle, end or the start. But if it's here, then I can think and add to it, whilst on the bus, or such like...
In the cool light of a spring morning
She often wakes and forgets he's not there.
She rolls over and opens her eye to see him breathing, the covers rising in his rhythm.
But it's just cool sheets that meet her gaze.
Remembering is heart breaking, all over again.
She goes out into the world,
The footpaths, grey under her feet
Her toes tapping a rhythm, a beat
That lets her go on to the next junction
To find the next function
For her soul, for her reason for being.
And she finds an adventure
Moments worth passing
She says "Just pin me down and treat me rough. We've got the rest of our lives for nice sex."
But no boy listened, they just stroked her hair and kissed her neck.
And so she spend her money from cocktail making,
On gin and opera intoxicating
Lurking and liking
Around the edges of desire
Drinking up the drama of a make believe fairy tale